Page 2 of Tempting Triton (Mated Myths #2)

Elena

T he sounds of heavy breathing and the creaking of metal surround me as I come to, my neck aching from my chin having dropped to my chest while I was unconscious.

I crack my neck with a groan and drag my eyes open.

My mouth feels like it’s full of cotton balls, and a pounding headache throbs behind my eyes.

Wherever I am, it’s mostly dark, with only a few tiny holes dotted in the walls of my prison, letting thin streams of light illuminate tiny dust particles floating in the air, and the fact that I am not alone.

The shadows of other bodies line the walls, either slumped over with their backs to the wall like me, or completely on their side as if they tipped over at some point.

Oh, god. I shudder, emotions barreling through me as our predicament sinks in.

Why me? Why us? What were those men doing out at the cabin?

Was this planned? Were they following me?

Maybe they think they can ransom me? I guess I’d be well-known in the swimming community, but to anyone else, I’m no one.

I’m not some high-ranking celebrity that would fetch a kidnapper a small fortune.

Thoughts run through my head a mile a minute, my brain trying to make sense of an unfathomable situation.

Brett is going to be so worried. Or maybe he’ll think I’ve run off after our argument.

What if he doesn’t look for me? What if he does think I’ve run off?

I gasp on a sob. Fear that I’ll never see him again mingles with regret over how our last conversation ended.

My arms are sore and stiff, secured behind me with what feels like a plastic zip tie, biting into my wrists.

I wriggle against my restraints, hissing as they rub at my sensitive skin.

I whimper, sniffling as a steady stream of tears tracks down my face.

I can’t help the wracking sobs that overtake me.

Someone else is coming around, by the sound of them groaning and throwing up. I gag a little at the sour tang that filters through the air toward me.

“Hello?” a feminine voice croaks out of the darkness, bouncing off the steel walls. “Where are we?”

My spine stiffens. “Shh, they might hear you!” I whisper-yell at the woman. The last thing we want is our captors coming and checking on us.

“Who? Who are they? Where are we?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know!” A sob breaks free again, try as I might to hold it back. I’m absolutely terrified.

“Hang on.” The woman grunts, and then I hear a shuffling noise as she tries to move. I hear her yelp and the sound of a thump in the dark before she’s suddenly lying in front of me, whimpering.

“Are you okay?” I sniff.

“Peachy.” She coughs, winded. “Sorry. We’re all in this together,” she whisper-sings before bursting into laughter, and I think she might be a bit loopy, but it breaks me out of my panic.

I snort, which makes her laugh even harder.

The ridiculousness of it all makes me laugh along with her until her laughter turns to sobs.

We simmer down, the silence sobering us.

“I’m scared,” I whisper.

The woman looks at me from the floor. “What’s your name?”

“Elena, you?” I sniff, snot tickling my nose as it tries to escape.

“Morgan.”

“I’d say nice to meet you, but I’d rather I hadn’t.” My voice cracks.

Morgan hums in agreement. She hasn’t made any move to get up from where she lies, the thin streams of light cast over her, and I can see she has dark ginger hair that’s long and thick with a slight wave to it.

She wears a cardigan over her dress, the pink fluff looking so warm and inviting in contrast to my barely-there running attire.

The wall at my back is startlingly cold against the sliver of bare skin around my middle, and I wish I had slipped a tee on over my sports bra when I decided to go for a run this afternoon.

Or was it yesterday? I don’t know how long I’ve been out, but given the sunlight doing its best to filter in, I can only assume it’s not the same day anymore.

I groan. Brett won’t even know to look for me for another couple of days when I don’t show up for training on Monday.

By then, I’ll be who knows where. If I’m even still alive.

“So, what’s your story?” Morgan asks.

I cock a brow at her. Are we swapping kidnapping stories?

“I was out running. I’m an athlete, a swimmer. I’ve got a comp coming up, so I beefed up my training. They got me on a secluded part of the trail.” I shudder at the memory of the two faceless men in the trees .

“Well, that’s not as bad as mine. I walked right up to them. I thought they were tourists and didn’t want them to get towed.” Morgan rolls her eyes.

Considering she came over here to comfort me when we’ve both been kidnapped, it doesn’t seem too outlandish. She seems like the type of person who tries her best to help everyone.

“I should’ve known better. Who else drives a beat-up old caravan, if not for creeps who go around kidnapping women?” she spits out bitterly.

My muscles tense, thinking of the camper van parked outside the cabin. I also thought they were tourists who had gotten lost.

“Yeah, that’s a no-brainer, sorry. Are you feeling any better? I heard you throwing up down there.” I nod towards where she had woken up.

“A little. My head won’t stop swaying, though. Whatever they knocked me out with has really messed me up.”

“I thought it was just me, but I’ve been awake for a while now, so I think the drug has worn off. My head hasn’t stopped swaying either.”

“Huh.” Morgan scrunches her eyes shut for a moment before they spring back open with surprise. “We’re rocking.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said.” I roll my eyes. Maybe that fall gave her a concussion or something.

“No, not swaying. Rocking. This, whatever this is”—she gestures around at our enclosure—“is rocking. The room is rocking!”

“Wha—” I frown, confused.

Morgan tries to get her feet beneath her while her hands are bound and fails, falling headfirst into my lap.

“Do you mind?” I grumble, exasperated.

“Sorry,” she grunts, her voice muffled in my leg as she uses me for leverage to stand up and tentatively walk over to where light filters through one of the openings across from us.

Reaching up on her toes, she peers through the hole before flinching back, the bright light burning her retina after being in the shadows for who knows how long. Morgan tries again, silence encompassing us for a moment before she lets out a sharp gasp.

“We’re in a shipping container.” Her voice is a whisper, and I almost think I’ve misheard her.

“You can’t be serious?” I choke out .

She turns to face me, eyes wide, and nods.

I huff, maneuvering my aching body to stand as best I can with my hands bound, determined to see for myself.

I shuffle over to another hole in the wall and peer out with my eyelid half-open, careful not to make the same mistake as Morgan.

The bright white light fades into blues and grays as far as my eye can see.

My saliva feels thick in my throat, fear gripping the edges of my thoughts. Fuck.

“The only reason we’d be in a shipping container is if—”

“We’re on a ship.” I cut her off mid-sentence, my voice wavering. I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen it for myself. I peer back out through the hole, dark clouds gathering on the horizon at what seems like an unnaturally rapid pace.

“No, no, no, no. This is not good. I mean, this whole thing is not good, but this is really not good.” Panic laces Morgan’s words. “How are we supposed to be rescued if we’re in the middle of the freaking ocean?!” she screeches, and someone stirs, groaning in the shadows.

“I wouldn’t worry about that so much as this storm rolling in.

The sky looks pretty nasty out there. It’s about to get rough.

” The dark clouds roll in faster than I ever thought was possible, thunder flashing before cracks of lightning hit the ocean in blinding forks.

The rapid change in air pressure stirs up the ocean around us, causing the ship to rock all the more violently.

Morgan groans, sliding onto her ass, and bangs her head against the metal wall in frustration.

Within minutes, the rain thunders violently on the steel roof, rousing some of the other captives, the tossing causing them to empty their stomachs on the container floor.

The smell of bile filters around us and burns my nose.

I breathe through my mouth, trying my best not to gag as I slide back down the wall.

Sitting seems like a good idea right now.

“You got someone back home who’ll notice you’re gone?” Morgan asks over the sounds of thunder and someone crying softly on the other side of the container.

“My coach.” I think about Brett. He’s all I have left.

“No one else. Things weren’t really great between us when I was taken, either.

I’d mentioned I was thinking about quitting swimming.

He didn’t take it too well. He’ll probably think I’ve run off or something…

I-I don’t know if he’d look all that hard for me, you know? Not like family would, or a partner. ”

I don’t know if I really believe that. Once Brett realizes I haven’t just run off, he’ll be worried sick.

But by then, it’ll be much too late. Morgan nods in understanding, and I can’t help but wonder how this woman, who looks like she’d never harm a fly, could possibly have no one who cares enough to notice she’s missing.

Our steel prison pitches back and forth with the storm, the ocean seeming intent on battering the ship with tremendous force.

I shift a little, making myself as comfortable as possible, settling in to ride out this wild weather.

Suddenly, a violent grinding rips through the air.

My body locks up; tense silence falls over us.

We continue to rock back and forth like we’re a bunch of kids on a seesaw, but way less fun.

Another screech, like the sharp grinding of metal on metal.

We shift suddenly. I grunt as Morgan is shunted forward into me.

“We really have to stop meeting like this,” I joke, trying to keep the situation light, but my voice wobbles.

I’m trying desperately not to let the ‘what-ifs’ sink their claws in and drive me to panic.

Morgan hefts herself off me when another, much louder screech reverberates through the container, sounding like the moan of a dying beast. We pitch to the side again, but this time, we don’t stop .

A whoosh of air escapes me as Morgan is thrown into me once more, the force of gravity preventing her from righting herself.

Someone slides past us, still unconscious, and then weightlessness has my stomach sitting in my throat as the container tips past the point of no return.

Screams bounce off the steel around me as we’re thrown around the container.

A thud reverberates through the walls. Screams cut off as we end up in a pile on top of one another, limbs tangled and bruised.

I grunt, smacking my head against the steel, tasting blood as my teeth clamp down on my tongue.

I’m pinned in place, stuck on a ride I desperately want to get off.

My vision blurs. I must’ve hit just the right, or wrong, spot.

I don’t have time to freak out as the tell-tale signs of a concussion sink in.

I know I shouldn’t close my eyes, but I just can’t stop—